Scuffs rang out, and I walked to the door, seeing Billy racing down the boardwalk ahead of his grandmother, who was giving chase, huffing. Billy disappeared through the swinging saloon doors.
Noting that the lid of the old-fashioned mailbox mounted on the jailhouse wall stood ajar, I shut it, then returned inside.
As the door closed behind me, silence settled between Dungar and me.
“I should go,” I said, though everything in me wanted to stay.
“Rest.” Dungar grunted. “Take all the time you need.”
As I stepped toward the door, Dungar moved at the same time. Our arms brushed, and heat shot up to my shoulder. We both froze, our fingers hovering inches apart. For one breathless moment, I thought he might take my hand and…
Do what?
I didn’t even know what I’d like him to do.
He stepped back, giving me space.
“Thank you,” I said softly. “For making sure I was warm enough last night.”
His dark eyes softened. “Anytime.”
I needed to leave before I did something foolish, like ask him to hold me again.
I forced my feet out the front door and down the boardwalk to the Red Fang Saloon, trying to ignore the sensation that something fundamental had shifted in my carefully constructed world.
Chapter 7
Riley
My room above the Red Fang Saloon was modest but charming with its Wild West authenticity. Yesterday, Jessi had handed me the key with a warm smile and directed me to the second floor, where guest accommodations occupied the entire level.
“Room four,” she’d said. “It’s one of our smaller ones, but I think you’ll find it comfortable.”
I’d only taken a moment yesterday to leave my suitcase and hadn’t truly looked around.
Smaller was relative in a town built for orcs. The door swung open to reveal a space that would’ve been considered spacious in any human establishment. An orc-sized bed dominated one wall, its wooden frame carved with mountains and trees. A dresser and wardrobe stood opposite, both built to accommodate someone Dungar’s size. The nightstand held an old-fashioned oil lamp, converted to electric but maintaining its rustic appeal.
My single suitcase sat untouched by the door, a starkreminder of how little I possessed. Everything I owned in the world fits into that standard case. I’d been living that way for so long that the idea of unpacking, of settling in, felt foreign.
I toed off my boots and collapsed onto the bed fully clothed. The mattress enveloped me, soft and inviting after the narrow jail cell bunk. I should shower and unpack. Do anything other than lie here thinking about Dungar Bronish and the way his arms had felt around me.
I closed my eyes, intending to rest them for a moment. Instead, exhaustion claimed me, pulling me down into a dreamless sleep.
A bang outside pulled me back to consciousness. I blinked, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar ceiling above me, my heart racing from the ongoing bangs. Sunlight slanted through the window at a different angle now, telling me I’d been asleep for hours.
And a quick glance out the window showed another stagecoach robbery reenactment in progress.
I slumped back on the bed, memories of the night flooding my mind. Dungar’s body curved protectively around mine. The rumble of his voice as he shared stories of his childhood. The way he’d calmed me through my nightmare without pushing for explanations I couldn’t give.
I groaned and pushed myself up, my body stiff from sleeping on the bunk. A quick check of my phone showed it was past noon. I’d slept nearly four hours, longer than I’d intended but not enough to waste the entire day.
The bathroom was as thoughtfully designed as the bedroom, with fixtures that could accommodate both human and orc users. I stripped and stepped into the shower, letting hot water cascade over me. As I washed away the remnants of my night in the jail cell, my fingers unconsciously traced over my right wrist.
The spot still tingled, an echo of the strange burning sensation I’d felt when his tongue had traced from my palm to my wrist. Some sort of traditional orc greeting, I assumed, though the intensity of his reaction afterward had been puzzling.
I shut off the water and stepped out, wrapping a towel around my body. After drying, I wiped condensation from the mirror and stared at my reflection. My eyes looked less haunted, more alive than they had in years.
“Remember why you’re here, Riley,” I told my reflection sternly. “As always, no attachments. No complications.”
